In the Marches of a Heart
by Ramzes
Summary: Being a Marcher lady in a court with so many Dornishmen isn't easy. Even for the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Jena Dondarrion.
1. Chapter 1

**In the Marches of a Heart**

She felt the change even before she heard that a raven had arrived: the handmaidens whispered urgently between themselves and fell silent when they saw her, Maester Samon gave her a long thoughtful look, and her father looked thoughtful, as if he couldn't quite decide how he felt.

Her mother, though, was giddy with joy, and it was from her that Jena learned what all this was about. "What honour the King does us! His own son, his firstborn, for our Jena! I can't believe you didn't answer at once, saying that you accept! Our daughter will be queen! Just imagine – Queen Jena!"

Her father huffed and glared. "Stop it! First, Daeron isn't king. It's only King Aegon who can discuss such things with me."

 _It doesn't look like it_ , the girl thought and bowed her head even lower over her embroidery, hoping that they wouldn't realize their voices carried so far through the great hall. She knew her lord father. His voice didn't sound as sure as usual. And it shouldn't. Everyone knew that Aegon couldn't even hoist himself off his couch… that he'd die any moment now…

And then, she realized the meaning of the words she had heard. Queen! She'd be queen! Just a few weeks ago, she had heard her father and Maester Samon discuss her chances to wed Lord Baratheon's heir and decide that they were not good at all.

Queen! Her joy faded, replaced by fear, when everything that she had heard here and in the other Marcher castles rushed to her mind. Prince Daeron had carved a small Dorne out of Dragonstone. He only did what his Dornish wife told him. His firstborn was… _Mother save me! Am I really to wed a Dornishman?_

* * *

She was. The moment she first laid her eyes on him, she didn't even recognize him – they had arrived a day earlier than expected and so he had spent the day in his usual routine. He was just coming from the practice yard, face bathed in sweat and hair clinging to his sculp. In his simple and comfortable clothes, he was no one. Jena didn't pay him any mind. She just thought, _I haven't even arrived, and I've already encountered a Dornishman. They say the Red Keep is teeming with them._

He was nothing like a king should be. He was all Dorne. Would he betray the Seven Kingdoms for his mother's land? _Not as long as I'm here_ , Jena vowed. _Not as long as I am his queen._ She prepared her best smile and bestowed it upon him. He returned it and Jena had to admit that he did have a nice smile. Pity that he was probably giving it to a different girl three times a day, every day. He was King Aegon's grandson and a Dornishman to the boot. He simply couldn't help himself. Jena just hoped that he'd be discreet.

There was nothing discreet about the queen. She didn't constrain herself to the typical duties expected of a lady – charity and running the household. No, she read documents of state and felt the urge to state her opinions without disguising it. They were good opinions too, but put forth in a way that was unbecoming. Like a man would state them. _When I am queen_ , Jena thought, _I'll restore femininity to its rightful place at court._ Well, perhaps not all of it. She certainly would do her best to keep alive the respect the current king was paying his queen. Even if it was of the kind that was expected to be bestowed upon _lords_.

She was eager to leave for Dragonstone, to have a place of her own, but Baelor still had much to learn, so they stayed at King's Landing. Jena had to admit that she had much to learn as well, learn how to be queen, and those were lessons she shared almost evenly with Princess Daenerys. At least, it was supposed to be so…

"Why are you so interested in Dornish ways?" she asked one day, after a long hour of attending Mariah as she was receiving visitors and listening to their pleas.

The other girl looked up from the petitions they were sorting out to present to the Queen later. "Because in less than a year, I'll be wed," she whispered conspiratorially and Jena's jaw dropped. Surely Daenerys could not mean what Jena's suspicious mind had put forward? She had always thought that the girl would wed Aerys or perhaps even Rhaegel. In fact, she had been surprised to be chosen over her for Baelor! The King would not step over all traditions so boldly, would he?

Daenerys nodded eagerly. "To the Prince of Dorne," she confirmed. "Didn't Baelor tell you?"

"No," Jena said and tried not to feel hurt by this. Her husband had always shown her nothing but care and respect, even spending all his nights with her, instead of seeking other women. Why had he kept something so important in secret?

Perhaps _because_ it was so important. Perhaps he, with his Dornish blood, felt that a Marcher woman could not be trusted with information about something that would give Dorne more prestige, one that it did not deserve at all?

"Aren't you… scared?" she asked carefully.

Daenerys shook her head. "Of course not. He's Mariah's brother. And he's so very handsome." Her laughter turned to a smile. "Three years ago, I even asked him why he hadn't taken a wife yet."

Jena's breath caught. "You didn't ask him!"

"I did. And he laughed and said the moment still hadn't come. From the time Mother died and I was sent to Dragonstone, he must have known that Daeron had intended me for him. Through me, Aegon the Conqueror's work will be finished without fire and blood. I'll continue the Martell line by giving Maron many children with dragon blood who will bring peace and prosperity to Dorne. As you will here," she finished, smiling at Jena.

Jena startled back. But no, Daenerys couldn't know. Jena was not even sure herself. She even counted the hours, out of too great joy and even greater fear. She might be wrong and if she was, she'd give Baelor false hope, so she needed to wait another two weeks before telling him.

It would be a Dornish child. A half-Dornish child, in a too Dornish court. Still, Jena was joyful – and still too scared that she might have no reason to be.


	2. Chapter 2

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 _In the Marches of a Heart_

Chapter 2

The second solar was filled with the aroma of blood oranges. From the small inner yard it was overlooking, the laughter and chatter of the servants drifted up in short pieces. Seagulls filled the entire city with their screeches that protested against the change in climate the breeze was harbingering. All in all, it was a calm night after a peaceful day. But on the table with Jena's books and embroideries, the letter lay, the letter with the writing that was so black and ominous. Jena had avoided looking at it for a second time for as long as possible. She really wished that she had heeded the maesters' suggestions to take it easy. At the time, she had felt that it was overreaction, that lying around all day doing nothing would kill her out of sheer boredom. Women of the Dornish Marches didn't make a big issue out of being with child, unless it was a big issue indeed. And Jena's state was. Just not the way she had expected. She wasn't ill. She felt great – but the babe she was carrying was tremendously important, especially given the fact that it was her first in almost three years of marriage. She could have made use of the maesters' suggestions. Then, she wouldn't have had to encounter this terrible letter that tore her apart.

"What's wrong?" Baelor asked, looking up from cleaning his blade.

"A petition," Jena said. "I am not sure about the circumstances." If they're true, I mean."

He had asked the question absent-mindedly but now he studied her. Her confusion was real. And he didn't know her to be this hesitant, ever.

"What is it about?" he asked.

Now, Jena wished that she hadn't said a thing. There was no way they'd go about it without a major friction in their interactions. Time had sadly proven, again and again, that it was almost impossible for them to meet in the middle.

"It's nothing," she said but Baelor had already risen. Going to the table, he took the letter and skimmed through the lines written by a hand that was clearly unaccustomed with such activities. Then, he gave his wife a look of surprise.

"What's the problem? I think it's quite clear cut. The man did enter that family's house at night and tried to impose himself on the wife. According to the clerk, he didn't even deny it. Good riddance, I say."

"But he said she invited him, with her very behavior and manners," Jena said. Everyone in the Marches knew that Dornish women could not be trusted to conduct themselves in a manner that would be inoffensive in the eyes of the Seven. Including the one who was now appealing to the Princess of Dragonstone to save her husband. Jena didn't know why the woman had chosen her and not the Queen. Perhaps she thought Jena would relate more, being young and with child herself. Jena really wished she hadn't. She didn't know what to do. She'd have to study the matter more precisely, it seemed.

Baelor looked away but didn't go back to cleaning the sword. Instead, he went to the window. Jena could say that he was fighting not to say something sharp. She wouldn't expect it of him even under the worst of circumstances, let alone now that she was so close to her time. His chivalry was one of the things that most appealed to her.

"He didn't say she _invited_ him," he said. "What we have here is someone who, according to his own testimony, tried to force himself on a woman and her husband killed him. If he wasn't a knight and she the wife of a shopkeeper , there wouldn't have been any doubt as to what steps should be taken."

Didn't Jena know it! Her natural sympathy with the man in question – like her, he hailed from the north side of the Dornish Marches – fought with the image of the young woman waking up to her door being broken. Even if she had given him a reason to hope!

"What would you do?" she asked.

Baelor shrugged. "I'd like to think that I wouldn't force myself on you if you're unwilling," he said. "Smiling at me the whole day or not. A _no_ should be a _no_. But it doesn't matter what I would do, does it? It isn't my sense of justice that is being appealed to. And I think that under other circumstances, you would have already taken actions. She isn't begging for money and he isn't likely to repeat his crime, after all."

She looked at him, stung. That was the closest thing to a reproach that he would let out. "I'll conduct a study into the matter," she said but the line of disappointment between his eyebrows did not disappear. She was known to intercede on behalf of many, both highborn and smallfolk. Mercy came to her naturally. Perhaps that was the first time she hesitated before taking the side of the pleading woman – a mother in waiting, no less.

"What?" she demanded. "You think I am going to refuse her without even thinking twice?"

"I think your prejudices are preventing you from being fair."

Abruptly, Jena felt a chill.

"What?" Baelor asked sharply, rising, the man and woman they had been talking about forgotten now. "Are you in pain?"

The babe stirred and Jena placed a hand to her belly to quiet it down. "No," she said.

One day, she'd be queen. To everyone – both people from the Dornish Marches and Dornishmen. She had to learn to treat them all equally but it was hard, so very hard.

* * *

She had never _felt_ that she'd be Queen of all the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, not even when she had seen Prince Maron pledge his loyalty to the Iron Throne. Dornishmen and women were… different beyond everything she had been thought. They just were. Even her goodmother. Even Baelor, to some extent.

And then, he came. The arrival that had been expected for three years. The proof that the King had not been mistaken to choose her. The tiny being that would tie Baelor to her for as long as they both drank from life's cup. Her feeling of fulfillment. Her victory over those who whispered about her humble origins. It was the first time that Jena truly felt that she'd be queen of everyone – because she was the mother of the future king of a peaceful and united Westeros. The most precious thing she had right now.

* * *

The maesters hoped that the easy birth of the first babe would be like unleashing a river kept forcefully in a desired path through a huge bent. Jena also hoped so. But it didn't happen. Two miscarriages in less than a year put an end to this illusion. She started spending more time at Dragonstone, hoping that the more sedate life there would help her. But it didn't. And when she returned to King's Landing, she was less than thrilled to see the new court in the court, the party of the young and not so young who had found themselves captive to the charm and grace of her new goodsister, Dyanna.

All the animosities Jena had long held at bay roared to fierce life. The girl was very young, very beautiful and very Dornish in voice and manners – manners most of all! She had gotten with child only two months after her wedding. She liked singers and sculptors and had started to gather them around her; in return, they praised her to high heaven to the world. And she made as little effort as the Queen to hide her involvement in politics – when she wasn't batting her impossibly long eyelashes at every man she met. Sometimes, Jena even wondered if the blood staining the sheets after Dyanna's first wedding night had been hers at all. She looked like a girl who had been possessed by a demon when she had been as young as twelve – a demon that had thrown her in the hay with all the boys in her castle of fallen stars! The very fact that she thought her gowns modest… What would be immodest in Dyanna Targaryen's estimation? Nearly naked, perhaps? One breast showing? Once, Jena heard her chatter about her little sister's ambition to become _Lord_ Treasurer of Sunspear as if this was something that was entirely possible if only the girl put in enough effort. Jena didn't know if she should be amused or terrified when their goodmother confirmed that it was possible, that in Dorne women took men's offices with male labels. Perhaps in Dorne, women wore false beards as well?

Dyanna's second pregnancy made things worse. The way everyone flocked around her made it cruelly clear to Jena that she had already been declared useless. Three years of childlessness, then one child, and four miscarriages… Was it any wonder that people focused their hopes and ambitions on that healthy girl with her fecundity and her violet Targaryen eyes? If Mariah had been able to provide a sister for Maekar to wed, she could not have resembled him more than Dyanna did! Aelinor was still a maid; Alys' moon blood had never been late. As it was, Valarr might be the only thing that would one day stand between Dyanna's offspring and the Iron Throne. The girl had never showed any such ambitions and to suspect Maekar of such thoughts was ridiculous but Jena could not chase the ugly suspicion away each time she saw a new magnificent gift making its way to her goodsister's chambers, especially when Dyanna was past the months where an early birth would mean a death sentence to the babe.

"Think not about such things," Baelor told her calmly, taking her in his arms. "Only the Seven can decide the fate of the kingdom and our House. And we're young enough. We _will_ have another son."

At least he didn't think her useless or if he did, he didn't show it and for this, Jena loved him even more.

* * *

Dyanna's son arrived in just a few hours, a silver Targaryen prince who could not be mistaken for anything but what he was, unlike his elder brother and Jena's own Valarr. Jena's uneasiness grew. Dyanna's quick recovery looked like a slap to her face – would she get with child again as soon as she was allowed to accept her husband? The second babe had certainly not tamed her fondness for spending and magnificent gowns, although, blessed be the Seven, she had started wearing decent bodices. Still, with her bright silks and made-up face she looked like she was going to a ball and not having recently left the bed of blood!

"Where did you take the saffron cloth from?" Jena asked one day as they sat in the Queen's chambers waiting for her. She could have a gown or two made for her as well.

Dyanna thought about it. She made so many purchases that she probably truly needed time to sort them all out. "A Lyseni shopkeeper, I think," she said. "I'll send you the address if you'd like."

"I would," Jena agreed, irate with the other woman's helpfulness. "Perhaps we can talk about the new charity I'd like to start in the major seaside cities?"

Dyanna's eys lit up. Having been born near such towns, she was well aware of the specific needs people had there. "Yes," she agreed. "I am sure the Queen won't be offended that we haven't waited for her."

Jena went to the table and started taking her parchments off the leather bag, noticing that she had forgotten the lists of offices. When she turned to say so to Dyanna, she heard a thud that almost made her jump out of her skin.

Dyanna was lying on the floor, twisted on her side, her arm thrown over her head, her white lips drawn back in a desperate attempt to get air. Instinctively, Jena gave a shriek but just as instinctively, it was a quiet one. In the Dornish Marches, a loud scream could mean death. She hurried to Dyanna's side and dropped to her knees, lifting the younger woman's arm from her cheek. For a moment, she felt a panicked fear that Dyanna had stopped breathing but the hasty shallow puffs reassured her on this account.

"Dyanna! What's wrong? Where does it hurt? I'll send for the Grand Maester, you just wait…"

"No!" Dyanna wheezed but Jena ran for the door and shouted for someone to come and for the Grand Maester.

Two sturdy men took Dyanna and placed her on the couch as carefully as if she were made of glass. Jena sent them out and leaned over Dyanna. Her goodsister was tearing at the silk at her breast, as if she wanted to demolish it with the flesh underneath. Unthinkingly, Jena grabbed the diamond-incrusted dagger from a box on the table in the bottom of the room.

Dyanna's eyes went wide. "No," she croaked but it was clear that she didn't know what she was saying. Jena cut the cloth and the strange bands underneath – and then reeled backward at the sight of the scarlet-and-black lesion consuming almost a fourth of Dyanna's breast. It was ugly and sick-looking and without the thick bandages its fetid stench assaulted Jena's nostrils. She made a step back before getting herself under control. _They say it's contagious_ , she thought, fighting the desperate urge to wash her hands. But Dyanna was looking at her pleadingly and somehow, she just couldn't walk away.

"Please," the younger woman murmured, fighting the pain that was clearly debilitating in order to speak at all. "Don't tell anyone."

Jena nodded. "Fine," she promised. "I'll just send for Maekar."

"No!"

This time, Jena's amazement truly overcame her fear. "You haven't told him?" she asked, incredulous.

Dyanna had closed her eyes but she wasn't unconscious. Just gathering her strength. And in this silence, Jena heard the reply. _Would I have told Baelor_ , she wondered. _No, most likely._

"I won't tell him," she promised and waved away the maidservants who had come in, obeying her command. "But you must."

"No," Dyanna whispered again, heedless of the buzz that had started to fill the hallway steadily. "Just help me to get dressed. Help me to go to my chambers. Please."

Jena hesitated. Another look at her goodsister told her something that she had failed to notice in all her angry diatribes in her head: beneath the layers of make-up, Dyanna's face was very pale and gaunt. The paints that had so recently accentuated her exquisite features were now revealed as a mask, an armour behind which the girl had hidden her terrible affliction. Somehow, that made Jena even sadder, that Dyanna had marched on in her everyday life, as determined as any man-at-arms, hidden behind the shield of her beauty.

"Come on," she urged. "Lie here for a while and then we'll get you into my shawl and summon a litter, right?"

A flash of gratitude made the dulled violet eyes eager, living. And then, Dyanna closed them and a silent tear fell down, leaving a path in the carmine on her cheek.

"It's nothing," Jena explained when the litter left. "She just felt faint, that's all."

She hated the need to explain but by now, the crowd had grown quite a lot, servants and ladies alike gathering to see what had taken place.

"No wonder that she did," Lady Darklyn muttered. "Everyone knows that she's practically been starving herself to get her figure back. Ah, the things we do for men!"

"That might be true for _you_ ," Jena snapped, emphasizing the last word. "Dyanna doesn't need to do anything to this purpose."

She turned back and left, leaving this gathering of ignorance and insolent curiosity. Only when she was stepping inside her own chambers did she realize that this time, her anger was all on Dyanna's behalf and not against her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you, VVSINGOFTHECROSS and pinke289, for reviewing!**

 _In the Marches of a Heart_

As soon as she returned to her chambers, Jena starting washing her hands, three times in a row, under her attendants' stunned looks. She even thought of burning the gown she was wearing but reason stopped her on time. Dyanna's ailment was not contagious, it was all just old superstitions. And even if it was, who could it affect, the green taffeta? The fabric had not even touched the lesion, just Dyanna's hand as they had been waiting for the litter to arrive.

Was she safe? How could anyone be safe if the corroding disease could claim someone as young as Dyanna? Someone so full of life? Now, Jena had forgotten all about her disapproval and only saw Dyanna's vivaciousness – her onetime vivaciousness perhaps?

That night, Dyanna did not attend the evening feast and the empty chair at the dais attracted everyone's eye, or so Jena thought. She couldn't say she was surprised. Illness could fight even her goodsister's implacable command of herself. And still, Jena felt a small twinge of disappointment when she saw Maekar, looking like he usually did. Dyanna hadn't told him yet. No woman deserved to suffer through such a thing alone and if Jena had to bet on something, she'd bet that Dyanna was one of the very few things that could liven up Maekar's cold heart.

By now, the news of Dyanna's swoon had flown all around King's Landing and since she was… had been… an exceptionally healthy girl, everyone was curious. "Is she with child again?" Alys asked curiously and a little enviously and Jena trained her eyes on her pepper and cheese. At least people had learned not to talk about _her_ like that since the first few times she had felt unwell without any babe to show for it. All of a sudden, she pitied Dyanna even more. When she left her chambers, she'd be asked this question herself many times, no doubt, and she'd have to deal with people expecting life and joy of her while inside, the vile growth claimed her.

"No," Maekar snapped and Jena glanced at him. Now she remembered the rumours that he was no longer visiting his wife's bedchamber and realized that it must be the other way around. Dyanna had probably closed her door to him, so he would not see. At the moment, he looked like the bear from the ridiculous story Dyanna had often told the children in Mariah's chambers, about the bear and the maiden not so fear. A bear who had no idea what had hurt him.

"I am thinking of adding another bathtub in my chambers, smaller," she announced in a loud voice and Baelor blinked.

"I had no idea."

"Well, now you know," she replied, not at all surprised, since she hadn't been thinking about any such thing at all. "It's very important for a woman to feel comfortable in her bath, after all. Bath can hide or reveal a good deal many things. A good deal many," she repeated pointedly, her eyes not on her husband, who was surprised by this sudden burst of poetics but Maekar who, in a second, nodded that he had understood. Dyanna thought that he had gone a little paler but it was hard to say with him.

The next day, she didn't saw him at the feast; sometime about noon the day after, she spotted him in the practice yard and shivered at the rage that simply poured off him at every swing of his mace. _One day, he's going to kill someone, however inadvertently_ , she thought and felt relief when Baelor who had clearly been keeping an eye on other parts of the yard as well stopped his own practice to go there and nod at his brother's opponent to go away. Even from this far, Jena could hear the tone of Maekar's voice. She didn't need the words to think again how unlikeable he was even in the face of genuine concern as she turned to go to his apartments.

Somewhat to her surprise, Dyanna had her let in immediately, and in her own bedchamber. Jena immediately saw that both sides of the bed were disturbed.

"I hope you aren't angry with me," she said.

Dyanna tried to smile. "And here he was telling me that you never told him…"

"Well, I didn't, in fact, tell him…" Jena started explaining and Dyanna's lips twitched again as she nodded at a chair.

"It doesn't matter. You were right, I was a fool for not telling him. I don't want to die alone."

"You won't die," Jena protested unconvincingly and unconvinced.

To everyone's surprise, Dyanna didn't, although Jena heard her scream when they had the lesion removed, though two sets of thick doors and a hallway between them. It was a howl that echoed for days in her dreams, a howl that made one wonder if death wasn't the better fate, after all.

* * *

"Are you going to eat this?"

Jena looked up from the venison she had been examining. "What kind of question is this? Of course I will!"

"I didn't mean to irate you," he said. "I was _jesting_." His expression became thoughtful. "I didn't know it was so hard for you. Look, Jena, if you don't want it, then just _leave_ it."

She bit her lip. Didn't he understand? Would he leave the Small Council during an important meeting just because he wanted to? Would he leave in the middle of a battle because he felt like it? "The maesters said…"

"I know what they say," Baelor sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, taking her hand in his. Jena had been on bedrest for a month now and her nerves were raw. He hated seeing her like this, especially when he knew it was all for nothing. She would either keep the babe, or she wouldn't. The prescriptions did her more harm than good, he was sure of it – but if he forced her not to follow them, she'd blame him when the babe came long before its time, long before it became a babe. By the pallor in her cheeks and the dull eyes he could already say that it would be what'd take place. But Jena didn't know it. "I am not sure it's going to help, Jena. Surely tormenting yourself with foods you don't really want can't be good for him either?"

"I have to try," she said simply. Her eyes shone brightly, the only thing left of her there. The rest was lost in new layers of fat, loss of the muscles that were unfitting for a court lady but had fascinated him in the beginning, shortness of breath and easy tiredness – all those injuries she kept sustaining in the battle to give him another son.

"If you must, my princess," he sighed, drawing a hand across her cheek. "I'd rather have you healthy and happy but if you feel you must…"

"I do," Jena confirmed and then her eyes went wide. "No, no, no!"

She pushed her chair away frantically; even before the motion was finished, Baelor knew what he'd find on her robe.

* * *

"My father is dying."

Dyanna's voice was flat, her eyes cast down. Jena wasn't sure what she was supposed to say. "I am so sorry."

"Don't be." Now, Dyanna looked up. Only about a year after her ordeal, her beauty had returned, the sparkle in her eye, her zest for life. Now Jena saw the famed stubbornness that made her goodsister beloved by some, disliked by many. A man's stubbornness. A _Dornish_ stubbornness. "He isn't dead yet. And he won't die before I go there."

Jena gave her a look of surprise. "Maekar let you go to Starfall?" Neither of them had visited back home since the moment they had been wrapped in the red and black showing their new belonging with dragons and the Iron Throne. Not that the King or their husbands had prohibited them from doing so. They just… hadn't come around to it. And now, the moment was the very last one Jena would have chosen for such a journey. Baelor would have never let her do it either and she was surprised that Maekar had.

Dyanna smiled charmingly. "Why, of course he would have let me if he were here," she claimed. "But since he isn't, I'll have to make the decision myself. I'm leaving tomorrow."

Jena glanced at the Queen but Mariah seemed immersed in the boys' chatter. Would Dyanna have dared say such a bold lie in their goodmother's hearing? At the same time, she could not help but be sympathetic. What would she have done in Dyanna's shoes? Death was final, for the Stranger never returned those he took.

"Are you sure Maekar will be truly fine with this?" Aerys asked, surprising both women with the fact that he had been listening. Throughout the years, Jena had realized that behind his absent-minded expression and long-winded words, there was a sharp and focused mind involved each time he chose to involve it but the instances themselves always startled her with the abrupt change from looking engrossed in his own thoughts or pushing his food around the plate, like now, to intense attention.

Dyanna shrugged. "I don't see why not," she said. The unsaid, _Are you my jailor now?_ remained unspoken. "Is there any reason why I should be denied one last visit with my father?" she asked.

There wasn't. The tensions with Daemon Blackfyre that had lately reached a new peak were disturbing but hardly something to risk missing this chance for. In fact, there was no reason for any of them not to…

"I can see none," Jena said. "In fact, we can start our journey together. I'll go to Blackhaven and stay there for a while."

Aerys gave her a stunned look and Jena marveled at her own impulse and the gall to say it. Reasonable or not, she knew that Baelor wouldn't approve of her decision to wander off as soon as he had left for Tyrosh. It would look like she had waited for him to be away to go against what he would have wised. What, in fact, Dyanna was doing with Maekar… But while Dyanna and Maekar's relationship was progressing under the mark of fire, Jena had taken Baelor's wishes into account, mostly. Maekar might be furious when he learned that his wife had ridden off immediately after seeing his back but surprised? Hardly. While for Jena, it would be the first time she'd serve Baelor such an act of disobedience.

But she wanted so much to see Blackhaven again, remove herself from the prying eyes, the blood staining her sheets just when she started to hope, and the renewed pressure she felt to produce this second boy that she couldn't satisfy…

Would it be worth it for her to disappoint her lord husband over it? A few years before her marriage she would have never entertained such a question – a few years into it, even. But now, she was grateful that she was wed to a man who was half-Dornish, brought up by a Dornish mother. Because if he had been anything else, the mere possibility would have never occurred to her.

* * *

"You should have invited her to stay the night."

"She was in a hurry, Mother."

"Still. We would have liked to see her. See whether she was as charming and immoral as they say or not."

Jena gave her mother a tired look. To think that she had expected a respite from the gossips of court! "She is very lovely. And she isn't immoral at all. Maekar wouldn't have tolerated it."

"Who knows, with the Queen being like this…"

"Like _what_?" Jena demanded.

But her mother's interest in Dornish women and their dubious morals had evaporated. She gave Jena a stern look. "Why are you here?"

Jena blinked. "What?"

Her mother sighed impatiently. "If you were well enough to travel here, you were well enough to join your husband in his journey to the Free Cities. How do you expect to get with child if you leave him go here and there on his own?"

Jena gaped. Even Mariah had never been this brutal!

Her mother's expression softened. "I know it's hard for you, child," she said. "But for your good, for the good of our House and the realm you must give us another prince."

Jena leapt to her feet. "I am trying!" she shouted. "I accept Baelor in my bed regularly, although I've started fearing it, knowing that I'll bleed the prince you all so desire out of my loins! I spend my life lying in bed like a brood-hen in her laying-place, over the eggs. I've eaten so much meat that I feel close to bursting! Next thing I know, I'll find myself addicted to Dornish red since that's what the maesters prescribe me now! What more do you want?"

"Not sniveling like a little girl," Lady Dondarrion said shortly. "Comport yourself like a true queen. And for the Mother's sake, do your duty and give us an heir! I don't know what the problem is. I was a woman blessed with children and so was my mother. You don't have a problem conceiving them, clearly. We must find a way for you to keep them – but to this purpose, you should be with your husband and not me. You need to conceive them first."

So much for the sympathy she could expect from her mother! Jena spun back angrily, headed for the door and slammed it shut behind her. The Princess of Dragonstone could afford this much, at least!

In her old bedchamber, her handmaidens tried to dash for cover at the first look at her thunderous face. Jena demanded a riding outfit and changed immediately, not looking at the ruin the prescriptions to get her pregnant with a male and living child were turning her body in. Lately, she had started fearing that by following them, she'd get so corpulent that Baelor would no longer be attracted to her. Perhaps he already was? He had never taken another woman, as far as she knew. But now, when he was alone in Essos? Essos and the pillow-houses?

So stupid, being jealous. Such a waste of time. So unbefitting a royal wife! That was what her mother would tell her if Jena was stupid enough to share her concerns. She'd only grace her with a lecture on duty again and tell her that she should aim to be Baelor's queen on the Iron Throne one day, not the queen of his heart.

It it was up to Jena, she knew which one she would prefer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you, VVSINGOFTHECROSS and pinke289, for reviewing!**

In the Marches of a Heart

Jena couldn't sleep – up until the moment when she'd have two or three nights of vigil and then she'd fall asleep so deeply that even the dropping of a chest near her head could not wake her up.

"You need to rest," her mother said repeatedly. "You aren't helping anyone by torturing yourself like this."

Nice sounding words! Bad thing was, they were thoroughly impractical. How could Jena rest when there was a rebellion raging all over the Dornish Marches, all over Westeros and she was caught here? She couldn't leave because the region was constantly changing control and therefore loyalties. Should she try to leave Blackhaven, she might find herself in the hands of Daemon Blackfyre's followers; should she stay, the fights between her father's men and those of many of his neighbours would be all the more severe. And there was no hiding her presence here – too many people had seen her. Each time sleep finally overwhelmed her, Jena succumbed with the fear that she might wake up to a dagger to her throat and a hand holding her by the hair to drag her away.

"Summerhall," she said one day, about a week after they had learned about Blackfyre's treason. "Perhaps I can try and reach Summerhall. I cannot stay here indefinitely."

In the scanty light coming from the small glassless window set high in the wall, her father's face looked gaunt and worried. "Even if we can get you there," he said, "Summerhall is lightly fortified. There is no safety for you there."

They could only wait and hope for a miraculous chance that would clear Jena's path to King's Landing. Only there could she find safety, or as much safety as possible.

Another week later, the man arrived and in the beginning, in the first moment Jena saw him in the torch-lit hallway, she felt a surge of relief, thinking that Maekar's travels had brought him here. With him and his men, she'd be as safe as she could be under those circumstances. But then he looked at her and her face fell. No Maekar, after all. Just someone as fair as him.

"What are you doing here?" her father asked guardedly when the man was shown in. "With the unrest around, no Dornishman is safe in the Marches."

The man shrugged. "I don't think many people saw me," he said. "I am looking for the Princess of Dragonstone." He looked at Jena. "That's you, my lady, right? I remember you from King's Landing, at Prince Maron's wedding."

Well, she didn't remember him. At the time, less than a year into her marriage, she had done her best to stay away from the Dornish party, as if she had expected that their masks would fall any moment and their horns and tails would spring through…

"I don't think we've been formally introduced to each other, my lord," she said, although with any word he said her certainty in his identity grew. There was something about his bearing and the way he inclined his head that there could be no mistake."

"That's Ser Ultor Dayne," her father said reluctantly. "Lord Dayne, as it is," he corrected. Jena had been strangely and stupidly touched that Dyanna had bothered to inform her of her father's passing. She had known before anyone else in Blackhaven.

The young man nodded and without preambles took a letter out of his cloak. So, he was now a messenger? In these dangerous times? Jena broke the seal and once again marveled at Dyanna's bravery or madness, she wasn't quite sure which. In the time the region on both sides of the Red Mountains was teeming with the Black Dragon's supporters, she had applied the red dragon seal as boldly as if she were writing from the safety of Maegor's Holdfast. Her brother who had accepted to carry the letter was no better. She skimmed the lines and her breath caught. Not with the offer. With the fact that this so obvious possibility had never occurred to her.

"Dyanna wants me to join her in Starfall," she said. "From there, we'll go to Sunspear."

Her father glared at the Dornishman. "No," he said flatly.

That was what Jena feared! Just like she had been unable to think of this reasonable option, her father was unable to let go of the centuries-old hatred and distrust. He'd need days and weeks to be convinced to trust Dayne with her and they didn't have them…

Wait. Why, exactly, did she need to convince her father? What need did she have of his approval? Sure, it was a good thing to have but it was in no way necessary to obtain before she acted. He could not keep her here if she didn't want to go.

"Actually, I think the idea is a marvelous one," she said, smiling at Ultor Dayne for the first time. "I'll thank Dyanna when I see her." She turned to her father. "I am most delighted to accept the proposal, Father. That's very generous of them to offer."

He squinted at her. "It's too dangerous," he said without bothering to sound convincing or forceful. The matter was just over for him. Her mother nodded in agreement.

Jena felt irate but with herself more than anyone else. Since coming here, she had slipped, in many ways, into the patterns of her childhood. Of course her parents would expect her to defer to their better judgment. She sighed. "I am sorry but I am leaving with Lord Dayne… tomorrow?" she asked him. "Or do you need more time to recover from the journey? How many men do you have?"

"Six," he replied. "And tomorrow is a good time. Every day, something changes. I want to bring both of you safely to Sunspear before something really bad happens. I am astounded that Starfall still hasn't been attacked. Everyone knows my sister and Daeron are there."

The mentioning of the boy only sharpened her father's distrust – Jena could see it in the line of his jaw.

"Come here," he said and led her to a small alcove, well away from the others. "Do you realize that this _Dornishman_ might have some plans for you? He might kill you on the way and then say the traitors did it! With the way things are at King's Landing, that's one step closer to his sister's sons to the throne, leaving your husband without..."

Jena sighed, her irritation at his insane reasoning tempered only by the acute realization that a few years ago, her logic had been no better. Never before had she realized just how much of her distrust of Dorne had faded. How many of her one-time beliefs had evaporated. And still, the thought of seeking refuge there hadn't crossed her mind. Her heart was indeed a realm of marches. "Father," she said reasonably, "if that's what he wants, he'd better protect me with all he has. Alive, I am no obstacle at all. If I die, Baelor will take another wife, with all the prospects of more sons."

It surprised her, how easily she said it. Dark relief overcame her. There would be no more children, no matter how hard she fought. It was time for her to accept it. Maybe.

Her father's jaw worked. His eyes bore into hers darkly. "So you aren't going to listen to me?"

"I won't, Father. I can't."

"He can sell you to…" he started again, from a different angle, and then realized just how ridiculous he sounded, so he closed his mouth.

Abruptly, Jena rose on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, something that she hadn't done since she was a little girl. "Thank you for your concern," she said. "But I'm a woman grown now. A queen to be. I must make my own decisions."

* * *

Early the next morning, they left Blackhaven – Jena, three of her guards, her three handmaidens, and the seven Dornishmen. Only to reach no further than the first bend when Ultor Dayne looked at her and said, "I didn't want to say it in front of your father, Your Grace, but we'll have to split. Ten men and four women – we'll attract notice…"

Jena had been, in fact, surprised that he hadn't mentioned something like this before, so she accepted readily, although her men looked disgruntled. Jena and one of her women would go with Lord Dayne and one of his men-at-arms. The other women would go with other groups of men. All of them would follow the same road but within a few hours distance from each other.

"And we'll meet in Small Port…" Lord Dayne finished and Jena smiled to reassure her people. Although inside, she was screaming, feeling more vulnerable than ever, she knew the responsibilities of a leader. She'd only show her people confidence – the same thing that Baelor was, perhaps, doing right now. If he had come back from Essos. If he had made it to King's Landing avoiding interception. If there were enough men in a close enough range for him to work with. He'd do it. He'd win.

Until then, Jena had to take care of her own safety.

* * *

They arrived at the fishing village named Small Port in the dead of night. The mist was such that Jena couldn't even see the moon, let alone her own shadow. The cold was such that her fingers had long frozen in the two sets of fur-lined gloves she wore – her own and Lord Dayne's bigger ones.

One of the men was just reaching to rap on a door when it flew open and a bodyless voice urged, "Come on, come on!"

A moment later, Jena was already drinking a warm brew that the innkeeper's wife assured her would recover him before she even finished it and the woman herself was nervously making sure that the heavy fabrics hung at the windows hid anything from view, as if anyone could see a light in this mist, even if there was one! The innkeeper stood before Lord Dayne, informing him of the last developments.

"They came tonight carrying the Yronwood banner and demanded to be taken across… No one wanted to but of course, we didn't tell them so. They're heavily armoured, a host, my lord, I'm telling you… We managed to convince them that no one would cross the Torrentine at night, and not such a cold one. We hoped you'd come back tonight. Tomorrow, we'll have to take them across, we have no choice. We have to transfer you immediately."

Jena's eyes widened in horror. Cross the river tonight? She had been unable to see her own hands when raised to her face! She couldn't possibly go through that vast expanse of water now! Next to her, her handmaidens started sobbing and she scolded them sharply.

"So they know my sister is there?" Ultor Dayne asked.

The man looked down. "They were… throwing dice who would have her first, my lord, before they delivered her to Lord Yronwood. They know that women of House Dayne are exquisitely beautiful and…"

"I understand," Lord Dayne cut in, his voice icier than the night outside. "Summon me the Fierce Four… I get it that no one has been restrained?"

Now, the innkeeper laughed. "Not for the lack of effort! When they were spotted coming, it wasn't this hard to guess what they wanted, so the men ran here and hid… you know," he finished abruptly, looking at Jena. Clearly, he couldn't quite trust the Marcher woman. Was that how Dyanna's first months at court had been? Behind her charm and easy smile, she might have hidden more than her affliction.

Summoning all her courage, Jena said that she was ready but when she looked through the front door into the night, with no idea where she should look at to find the very river, her limbs grew heavy. For the life of hers, she couldn't make another step.

"What?" Lord Dayne asked.

"I cannot," she murmured.

He swore but clearly used to people whose hearts fell at the sight of this nothingness, he immediately offered, "I'll carry you. You aren't this much heavier than my armour."

Against all odds, Jena felt flattered. No one had called her anything resembling slender in more months if not years because she hadn't been. But her activities in the last months had slimmed her down somewhat, so she didn't squash him under her when he squatted. No reverent carrying as if she had lost consciousness. She'd travel on his back with her arms and legs around him, like the baggage she was. This way, it would be easier for him to keep his balance. Her maids gasped but what would be would be. She squeezed him tight and let him carry her to her fate – either Sunspear or a very cold death in a very cold river that she couldn't even see but knew it was there.


	5. Chapter 5

**If I could give chocolates to pinke289 and VVSINGOFTHECROSS, I would!**

In the Marches of a Heart

The first sight of the pools made Jena's breath stop. There were more than fifty children. More than a hundred, perhaps. Dark and fair, tall and short, sturdy and lean – all of them. As far as she could seem the oldest were about ten while the youngest were just five. All wet. All happy. Their shouts came in the common tongue from the simplicity of smallfolk to the more cultured spiel of highborn. Daenerys had indeed let her servants' children play with her own to create this lovely display of a rather noisy harmony. Jena's heart sank at imagining how many of those children would be left fatherless in the next year or so.

Her hand went to her belly. During the nightmare that had been the sea voyage, she had started suspecting that she was with child – and this time, it was different. The established and hated pattern went this way: she'd only know about a babe when her blood wouldn't come; she'd feel great – in fact, stronger than ever. No nausea, no fatigue. Until the blood would start pouring out, carrying her hope with it. This time, she couldn't keep anything down. Perhaps that meant that the outcome would be different?

She spent hours at the terrace overlooking the pools. The sight of the children brought her some feeling of composure, although it also made Valarr's absence worst. Perhaps she wouldn't have felt it so acutely if she knew when they'd be reunited. A year, five years – this, she could bear. But this uncertainty was clawing at her, even though she knew he was well cared for.

Of all the children in the pools, Aurelia Dayne was the one who held Jena's attention longest. She wasn't allowed to join the rest of them because she was too young but her aunt Astrea took her to a side pool to play in the water. The child was a blend of all her various legacies – different kind of Dornish and Essosi people. Fair-haired, with Dyanna's violet eyes that shone unnaturally bright on that small dark face. And with Dyanna's talent for spinning stories. Once, Jena heard her describe people jumping from the Palestone Sword Tower to have a swim in the Torrentine to a captive audience – of which only Daeron seemed skeptical.

To Jena, this child was the embodiment of hope that people from different regions of the realm could create something precious. Surely they could? It was a small blend compared to the mix Aurelia was.

"I would have liked to have a daughter like her," Jena had heard Dyanna say once, pain and longing evident in her voice.

 _So would I_ , Jena agreed silently but she knew what she needed to pray for – and praying she did, ever since she missed her moon blood for a second time.

Dyanna claimed that Jena's state was a blessing. Jena tried to believe it, especially when she was over those dangerous first months. But as news kept arriving for yet another battle, yet another House defecting either way, she couldn't help but feel that this same state looked like a nightmare, a terrible mockery of all her past attempts. A bitter daring at future itself. If Daemon Blackfyre won, Jena's babe wouldn't live long.

Emotionally, she didn't feel this stable either. In addition to her fears, she couldn't help but shake off the feeling that she was in the very lair of her enemy. She knew it wasn't so. She was the future queen of everyone around her. Those were Baelor's relatives who she spent her time with. And yet, and yet… No one said anything but she could feel the sentiment. The looks, the whispers, the antipathy attending on her every step without her having done anything to deserve it were something that she wasn't accustomed to. At court, she had been dismissed as useless. It was different here. In the Water Gardens, she was the enemy. The Marcher woman.

"It will pass," Dyanna assured her. "Give them some time."

Jena didn't want to do bring strain into their relationship, so she didn't say that she doubted that. Even Baelor's grandmother looked at her with some reservations – and the woman wasn't even Dornish! Sometimes, she startled awake at night, having dreamed of a few drops of sneak venom squeezed into her cup. It would be so easy to deal with the Marcher woman while she was in their power – and then suggest a new, Dornish bride for Baelor…

"You should see what Princess Daenerys went through when she first came here," Dyanna insisted, trying to encourage her. "There were still some who remembered her father's time in Sunspear…" She looked mildly disgusted. "I think that was the reason my mother and grandmother were against my match," she went on.

They had been _against_? Jena had assumed that everyone had been beyond excited. But knowing Dyanna's grandmother, she wasn't too surprised. Ileria Toland had even lesser regard for the truth than Dyanna – and her imagination was enviable indeed! Listening to her, Jena had almost started to believe that Maekar was starving Dyanna because how could someone who was constantly hungry as Ileria's granddaughter was not put on any weight after spending months in bed? Clearly, the answer was that Maekar wanted her to look like the slip of a girl he had wed years ago.

But this time, Dyanna had played her cards in the worst possible way. Instead of putting Jena's mind to rest, she only aggravated her goodsister's unease. Jena didn't need this confirmation that she was disliked just by association.

They were taking care of Jena, though. They might be doing it reluctantly, resentfully, but they were doing it. Maester Calar examined her and gave her advices on food and activity; the handmaidens did their best to serve her competently. Daenerys and Dyanna made sure to always have her included in the conversations over supper that revolved – naturally – around the war. And the children in the palace might look at the Marcher woman with a little fear but in their regard, there was also awe. They were staring at the future Queen. The Queen! Or at least, almost…

It was this way, by just living with them, that Jena slowly got rid of her fear as the people around her got rid of their hostility. A few months into her stay, she was no longer a foreigner. Her afternoons with Daenerys and her guests and attendants had turned into a pleasant habit. She visited Sunspear a few times as Maron and Daenerys' guest and her then obvious state was manifested as a good augury. She now had a few favourites among the children in the pools. And although some of the people she had met still kept their distance, the intense dislike had lost its edge, so when, a few weeks before her time, she got to know that although in Dorne, Baelor couldn't spare the time to come and visit, she no longer felt the desperate fear of a woman whose life – and her babe's life – would be left at the mercy of unsympathetic strangers and she couldn't fathom why she had ever felt it.


End file.
